


PB & J

by titlewave



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F, Friendship, Mentions of Anxiety, Short, i wrote this months ago and figured why not post it now, mostly this is erin thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 21:57:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10671573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titlewave/pseuds/titlewave
Summary: Happiness looks nice on her person. Why hasn't she always felt this light and airy?





	PB & J

**Author's Note:**

> any mistakes are mine! 
> 
> also. this is totally projection so. its really just a short lil story :~)

If only for a moment, she believes there's an issue. Her chest isn't tight. Quite the opposite, actually.

Open. She feels open. Which, if she ponders, sounds a statement that could be contorted otherwise...into a lewd manner...possibly a lascivious one, but over thinking tends to lead to a constricted chest cavity and the absence of such is what Erin is inwardly celebrating in the first place.

Her new ability to breathe smoothly is not only a strange kind of different but an invigorating kind of different. She feels like she's at the beach, breathing in the crisp air. Her chest isn't tight. Surely, this is monumental.

She inhales, paying dire attention to the steady rise and fall of her chest. Up: one, two, three. Down: one, two, three. The rush of air that fills her throat is refreshing, she observes the slight differences between breathing in from the mouth and breathing in from the nose. She concludes that none of the variants are intriguing enough to study. She’s rather mundane, she decides, as she exhales. But her chest isn't tight.

She's eating a toasted peanut butter and jelly sandwich on sourdough. Why is she this unbothered?

It goes like this: the peanut butter is creamy and chunk free. The strawberry jelly is sweet and savory. The bread is lightly toasted with a sour bite that ties the sandwich together. Maybe if science hadn't worked in her favor, being a connoisseur of pb and j would have.

Serenity sits on her shoulders. December has been treating her well. Ghostbusting is going as easily as it allows and Erin is thankful for the fact. She feels...validated. Maybe that's why Erin’s giddy; she's having a decent month so far.

(There has to be a distinct reasoning behind this new light and airy feeling.)

Droplets cling to the window above the kitchen sink. Erin's chewing slowly, her elbows perched on the wooden breakfast table. Muted sounds from the streets of New York are the current score. She wonders momentarily before finishing her sandwich if she is in a dream (a haze that she certainly doesn't want to wake up from).

The marimba ringtone cracks her sedated state in half. Erin fumbles for her phone, pulling it out of her sweatshirt pocket. Holtzmann. (At least it's Holtzmann calling and not that damn telemarketer for face lift cream. How old does Avon think she is? And anyway, why should she want, much less need, face lift cream? She looks fine. Right?)

Erin wipes the crumbs off of her fingers, clears her throat, and answers with a quick “you’re up early.”

“I could make the same accusation about you, Gilbert. But I won't today.”

“Tomorrow then?”

“Who says I'll be calling you tomorrow?”

“Well,” Erin pauses, her lips pursing, free hand fiddling with the used paper plate. Holtzmann seems to stump her frequently and unfortunately. Cleverness being shy, Erin laughs in response. Holtzmann laughs, too.

Holtzmann has an intriguing lilt to her laugh. Never has Erin heard laughter like hers; a sound that Erin can't pinpoint as sharp or melodious or anything in between.

Erin forgets to continue her self-interrogation as to why she's breathing soundly. Instead, she asks Holtzmann if she needs anything.

“Do you, by any chance, my lean bean Erin Gilbert, have packing tape?”

“I’m leary to ask why,” Erin says, rolling her lips inward. She figures with Holtzmann, throwing caution to the wind is always the best bet.

“So why?”

“Oh, Erin,” Holtzmann chuckles, but before Erin can veer off on a mental tangent about Holtzmann’s breathy laugh, she hears beeping on the other side of the phone, which sounds almost like an Amber Alert would. Erin hasn't received an alert herself though, so the beep must belong to another object.

Holtzmann doesn't comment, so Erin doesn't either.

A swoosh of red jelly is smeared nearly an inch across the paper plate, toasted crumbs stuck inside as an ant in honey would be.

And Erin realizes, as Holtzmann explains why she needs packing tape (she sold her microwave online for whatever bizarre reason), that she suddenly feels like an ant that accidentally stumbled upon some honey, and is sure to dissolve in no time.


End file.
